


King's Ransom

by IgnobleBard



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Mistletoe in May Slash Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/pseuds/IgnobleBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros takes his anger and frustration out on an unsuspecting Fingolfin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King's Ransom

Request: Fingolfin/Maedhros, non con, bdsm, no fluff

 

****************************************************

 

Fingolfin quickly made his way down the steps to the abandoned storeroom beneath the fortress. Maedhros had summoned him to this place and so he had come, his heart filled with trepidation. Ever since his son, Fingon, had rescued Maedhros from the rocky face of Thangorodrim, shackled there by Morgoth, and was forced to cut off his hand to free him, the red-haired Elf's anger had turned into self-loathing rage. Maedhros carried much wrath in his heart and Fingolfin was at a loss as to how to heal his injured spirit.

When he finally reached the room where Maedhros' note indicated, he hesitated a moment, listening. There was no sound within and he took a deep breath, lifted his hand, and rapped firmly.

"Enter," Maedhros' deep voice answered.

Fingolfin opened the door and stepped inside, only to have it slam behind him. Startled, he whirled to see Maedhros standing before the closed door clad only in skintight leather leggings. His muscular chest gleamed in the torchlight, his fiery red hair cascaded over his shoulders, and he wore a silver armband around his right bicep. Fingolfin gave an involuntary gasp. Maedhros was painfully beautiful; his demeanor exuding a raw, primal power that made Fingolfin's heart halt within his breast.

Then, unconsciously, his gaze went to Maedhros' missing hand and when he looked up into his face, he saw that the Elf's eyes glittered dangerously.

"Russandol? What is this?" Fingolfin said, his voice shaking slightly, "Why did you summon me here?"

"There is something I wish to discuss with you, my king," Maedhros said, "and I have prepared this place specifically to address the matter."

Fingolfin turned to look around the room but the only thing he saw was that the large space had the back portion obscured by a thick black curtain. Before he had time to question the oddness of this clandestine meeting he was suddenly seized in a headlock, the forearm of Russandol's injured limb clamped tight around his neck, and dragged behind the curtain. Fingolfin was so stunned he did not fully realize what was happening until Maedhros snapped the first shackle on his wrist. He tried to fight back but it was too late. Maedhros managed to force his other wrist into a shackle as well, rendering him helpless.

Fingolfin looked up to see a heavy wooden pulley held aloft by a system of planks and bolts. The chains he wore were attached to the pulley by thick ropes, and he watched in horror as Maedhros unfastened a rope from an anchor upon the wall and pulled. The chains drew up and Fingolfin found himself hanging painfully from his wrists, the toes of his boots barely touching the floor.

"Yes, there is much we have to discuss," Maedhros said darkly, tying off the rope and circling Fingolfin as he struggled, "not the least of which is the insufferable way you have treated me since..." he trailed off.

"Release me this instant, Russandol!" Fingolfin said, trying for an authoritative tone and failing miserably. "If you harm me, you will pay for your insolence. How dare you do this to your sworn liege!"

Fingolfin continued struggling, his face going red with the effort. Maedhros showed no sign of complying and Fingolfin tried to calm himself, tried to reason with his angry nephew. "Why do you think yourself ill-used? You have been shown nothing but respect and deference since your return. Did not my own son save you? And how have you repaid us? With anger and callousness, with sharp words and bald threats; you have been a bane to all since Thangorodrim. You are not the only Elf on Arda who has suffered."

Maedhros laughed, his eyes flashing in defiance. "I do not fear your wrath, and as for your "respect"? Bah! Your every word and action tells me what you truly think. Do not deny it, I am not blind. You see me as damaged, worthless. Since Fingon returned me I have had to face the contempt and discomfort of those who see what Morgoth did to me. I have had to bear the shame of falling prey to his trickery. These things I can stomach, but to face these same judgments from you and the rest of my kin is unbearable. You are to blame, Fingolfin, as head of your house and leader of your people, and you will stand in the stead of all who have treated me thus."

As Maedhros was speaking he moved to a table that held a host of whips, floggers, leather bindings, and other implements of pain and restraint. It was only then that Fingolfin noticed the table and it was as though a fist squeezed his heart. He began to tremble as he watched Maedhros idly peruse the items as he might choose a sweetmeat from a tray. Fingolfin struggled with renewed purpose, his tunic clinging to him as sweat broke out over his body.

"H-how can you hold me responsible for the actions of others?" Fingolfin stammered desperately. "If you think others see you as damaged it is only because you see yourself so. Do not do this thing. You will regret it and I will regret having to revenge it. Release me now; do not let this go further."

Maedhros ignored him, picking up a lightweight flogger and giving it a few practice swings, then putting it back in favor of a knotted cat-o-nine tails. He turned to Fingolfin and held up his choice, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "We might stand here and banter all night, but you will not talk your way out of this. You will suffer tonight. You will scream and beg, even as I did hanging from the mountain's face, my body buffeted by the strong winds, my cries borne away upon their unfeeling currents. And even as I was denied mercy, so shall you be."

"This is folly, Russandol," Fingolfin said, trying again to assert his authority. "I am your king and this is treason. I command that you release me now. If you do, I am willing to forgive your rashness, if not your punishment will rival that which Morgoth inflicted upon you."

Even as he said the words Fingolfin wished them back, but knew it was too late. Maedhros dropped the cat upon the table, strode over and struck him hard across the face, snapping his head to one side. Fingolfin turned back to face him, eyes flashing in anger, teeth bared in a silent snarl, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Maedhros returned the glare, the king's anger fueling his own, and the look in his eyes was so pitiless that Fingolfin's temper fell away and he quailed beneath the fierceness of the stormy gaze.

With a look of triumph, Maedhros seized the front of the king's tunic and ripped it from his body, stripping him to his leggings. The cool air of the room struck Fingolfin, and he shivered, his nipples hardening to stiff points. The torchlight rippled over his sweat sheened body and Maedhros was momentarily brought up short at the sight of the king's beautiful, supple muscles which flexed and heaved as Fingolfin grasped the chains above his wrists, trying to ease the strain on his shoulders.

When Maedhros saw this, his heart was shot through with despair. The action brought home again his inability to use his right hand to grasp, to hold, to touch, and the feeling of wanting to hurt Fingolfin flared hotly within his breast. He retrieved the cat and brought it over, holding it up before his captive's eyes.

"Does this please you, my lord?" he asked with mock courtesy. "It is not the largest, or the most painful in my arsenal, but I believe it will do for a start."

He stepped behind Fingolfin and pressed his body firmly against him, flinging the hand holding the cat around the king's waist. The knotted tails slapped against Fingolfin's ribs with a light sting, causing him to start. Maedhros circled his right arm around Fingolfin's other side, raising it high so the king could not help but see the scarred flesh where his hand was no more. He brushed the stump of his wrist over Fingolfin's nipple, chuckling at the sharp intake of breath, and hissed in his ear.

"How does it feel, my lord? I admit I have little sensation at the site, but I very much enjoy the reaction of others to my touch."

Fingolfin gulped and closed his eyes, refusing to speak for fear his words would inflame his situation. He tried not to flinch at the sting of the cat, nor react to the brush against his nipple, but to no avail. Maedhros continued to rub his chest and move the cat's tails in ticklish patterns over his ribs and belly, chuckling softly at his obvious distress.

"What, no bold words now?" Maedhros taunted. "You think yourself superior, untouchable in your position, a position *I* allowed you to gain if you recall. Yet, you are as vulnerable as anyone else and I will very much enjoy teaching you this lesson."

He nuzzled Fingolfin's neck, kissed his ear, and this time the shiver that rippled through the king was not due to cold. Maedhros inhaled the scent of fear that seeped from his captive's very pores and his arousal spiked precipitously. Fingolfin gave a reflexive moan and the chains rattled as his hands slipped from them, jerking his body as his weight was once again borne by his wrists. His head fell back and he groaned in anguish.

"It is painful, is it not?" Maedhros said, "The pressure on your wrists, the feeling that your shoulders might rip from their sockets. Imagine, if you can, this pain lasting days, weeks, until your arms are numb, your body wracked with uncontrollable spasms, your only wish that death take you before you see another soot-hazed sunrise."

He fell silent, and for a moment only Fingolfin's shallow gasps could be heard in the stony silence of the room. Fingolfin felt a tear splash upon his shoulder and Maedhros buried his face in his long, dark hair. His heart went out to his wounded kin, but he had no words of comfort and knew this was not what Russandol truly wanted, or even needed, now.

Fingolfin felt Russandol's forearm tighten against his chest, as though trying to squeeze the breath from him, and a thrill of pleasure shot through him at the power he felt in that bitter embrace. Then Maedhros draped Fingolfin's long hair over his right shoulder, baring his back, and withdrew, stepping into striking position.

Maedhros waited with the patience of a cat until Fingolfin's composure began to waver, watching the fear and expectation build in his victim. Fingolfin's muscles tensed, relaxed, tensed again as he waited for the blow, the silence unnerving him. Then Maedhros struck, the whickering sound of the cat cutting the air arriving in Fingolfin's ears at almost the same instant the lash bit into his back.

Fingolfin hissed and stiffened, but he did not cry out, not under the first lash. Yet Maedhros did not pause. He struck four more times in rapid succession and Fingolfin shouted his pain with the last. Fingolfin's body was driven from his feet with the blows and he felt the fire in his shoulders match the fire in his back as he hung in his chains, swaying slightly. Maedhros halted to give him the chance to fully feel the pain inflicted, enjoying the way his captive's body quivered, the way the welts etched themselves searingly into his pale flesh.

When the king's low moaning ceased, Maedhros struck again, this time laying a pattern of eight more lashes on either side of Fingolfin's spine before pausing. The tormented Elf could no longer hold back his cries of pain but he did not beg Maedhros to stop, for he knew such plea would be futile. Instead, he concentrated on enduring, overcoming the building agony.

But Maedhros did stop and Fingolfin sensed him close behind a second before an arm encircled his waist and he was again pulled hard against Russandol's muscular, damp chest. Fingolfin whimpered, the sweat and pressure upon his welts nearly unbearable, and this time when the cat came again before his eyes he saw through his tears his blood upon its tails.

Fingolfin felt his sweat drenched hair pushed away from his neck and Maedhros kissed and lightly bit his nape. His body convulsed as Maedhros dropped the cat and ran his hand down his slick belly, cupping his groin through his leggings, feeling his heat through the cloth, the bulge firm against the laces.

"No!" Fingolfin shouted. He bit his lip and tried to struggle in his chains, his body charged with pleasure even as his stomach clenched in humiliation.

Maedhros slid his hand beneath the waist and Fingolfin's breath caught, his body tensed, at the touch of that strong hand wrapped around his heat-charged arousal. The laces of his leggings popped with a sound not unlike that of the cat striking his flesh as Maedhros' knuckles swelled against them.

Fingolfin shook so violently at the touch that Maedhros was forced to push the stump of his arm into the king's stomach to hold him in place as he firmly squeezed Fingolfin's thick shaft and teased his thumb over the head. Within a few moments he was rewarded with an effusion of prerelease, which he smeared over the sensitive tip, causing Fingolfin to squirm deliciously in his arms. Fingolfin's breath came fast and harsh, his eyes squeezed shut as though trying to block out the shameful pleasure that wracked his body.

"You would make me beg, bend me to your will," Fingolfin said at last through clenched teeth, "but you will not do so with these sadistic games. One last chance do I give you to save yourself, then I will not be responsible."

Maedhros tightened his grip until Fingolfin gasped and gnashed his teeth in pain. "It seems you have not yet learned, Nolofinwë, your threats serve only to prolong and intensify your punishment."

Barely did Fingolfin have time to process this new warning before Maedhros took his hand away and jerked his leggings down, leaving them bunched around his booted ankles. Fingolfin gave a cry of dismay, hanging helpless and exposed as Maedhros again pulled him close, rubbing his chest soothingly as he sucked the sweat from his neck. A smooth cheek nuzzled his, and Fingolfin trembled at the tenderness of the touch, his head hanging low, his eyes closed and streaming with tears he could not contain.

Maedhros went again to the table and looked over the tools there, choosing a thin, flexible cane. He turned back to Fingolfin and smiled.

Fingolfin could not miss the gleam of satisfaction in Maedhros' eyes before he moved behind him again. This time the pause was mere seconds before Fingolfin heard the whistle and felt the snap of the cane upon his exposed buttocks. He howled as Maedhros laid a pattern of pain over his buttocks and thighs. Maedhros stopped to admire his handiwork, his arousal thrumming at the sight of Fingolfin's swollen red flesh.

Throughout his ordeal, the king had refused to beg, refused to give in, and Maedhros respected both his courage and stubbornness, traits Fingolfin and Fëanor shared, though Fingolfin was wiser and more just than his half-brother.

"Your will is strong, my lord," Maedhros said admiringly, "but you will find mine is stronger."

Fingolfin hung limply in his chains, gasping, and Maedhros went to face him. Maedhros laid the cane on the table and seized Fingolfin's hair, pulling his head back to look into his eyes. The king met his gaze for a moment then flushed in shame and closed his eyes tightly as Maedhros apprehended the magnitude of his arousal.

"So, the cat and cane are not the punishments I thought them to be," Maedhros gloated. "But retribution does not need to be all about pain, does it my king?"

"You go too far, Russandol," Fingolfin whispered brokenly.

"Indeed?" Maedhros replied, his voice low and seductive. "I assure you, I have only begun."

Still grasping Fingolfin's hair in a vise grip, Maedhros leaned close and inhaled his heady scent. His tongue darted out and slowly navigated the swells of Fingolfin's heaving chest, piloting a course around a nipple before parting his lips and catching it between his teeth. He clamped down abruptly, sending Fingolfin into a paroxysm of anguished desire.

"Mercy!" Fingolfin cried at last.

"No."

"Please."

"Not good enough," Maedhros replied. "You know how to end this, if it is what you truly want."

When Fingolfin did not reply, Maedhros raised his head and looked up into Fingolfin's eyes thoughtfully. "Could you reach your release with only a whip or cane spurring you on, I wonder, or will it take more? Perhaps a touch..."

Maedhros stroked the vestige of his handless wrist along the underside of Fingolfin's arousal and the king's body shook and his member pulsed at the strange, sensual intimacy of the touch. He opened his mouth to protest but Maedhros tightened the grip on his hair and took his lips in a brutal, possessive kiss. Fingolfin initially resisted, trying to pull away, but the closeness of Russandol, his heat, the firmness of his body, his palpable virility, made him forget everything except his own desire, his need to submit to the Elf whose beauty and primacy had always insinuated its image into his dreams.

Through a pain-soaked, pulse pounding haze Fingolfin quietly broke, his will dissolving as he welcomed the tongue that delved into his mouth, trembling in Russandol's powerful grasp. Maedhros felt Fingolfin's capitulation and he gentled the kiss, easing his grip on the king's hair, taking time to explore the sweet willingness of his mouth. When they parted both were panting softly, warm breath upon flushed cheek, mingled sweat and eyes alight with lust and apprehension.

"Russandol, I..." Fingolfin began.

"Shh," Maedhros said softly, "you are ready now, are you not?"

He nodded and Maedhros tilted his head down, bringing their foreheads together. He curled his fingers gently around Fingolfin's neck and pressed his thumb into the ripeness of his cheek.

"Humility becomes you, my king," he said, and kissed Fingolfin deeply, lovingly.

Fingolfin accepted him, growing bold enough to suck upon his tongue, moaning with brazen abandon when Maedhros ground his leather-clad bulge against his naked arousal.

Maedhros ran the stump of his hand over Fingolfin's back, playing the edge of it, where feeling still remained, over the hot welts, pleased to feel Fingolfin's wince, and the simultaneous thrust of his arousal. He stepped back suddenly, breaking the kiss, the gleam in his eyes growing sharper as he gave Fingolfin's body a little push, causing him to grind his teeth in pain as he swayed helplessly in his chains. Maedhros took hold of the table and dragged it in front of Fingolfin, then went to the wall and loosened the rope from the anchor.

The chains clattered loudly as Fingolfin fell forward onto the table, scattering Maedhros' playthings. He caught himself awkwardly with arms numbed by his hanging weight and would have slid to the floor had Maedhros not caught him between the shoulder blades with his stump, pinning him in place. Fingolfin's cramped muscles blazed with pain and he cried out, clutching feebly at the lip of the table, his legs threatening to buckle.

His upper body was flush against the rough surface, his punished backside on full view, his arousal hot and hard beneath his belly. Maedhros pressed against him from behind and this time there was no barrier between their flesh.

Fingolfin started as the blunt wetness of Maedhros' member prodded his sac from behind, as his hand played over the weals on his buttocks and thighs, and he stifled a whimper at the shock of it, the erotic yearning for the pain to come, the pain of his taking. Maedhros, knowing the extent of his power over the previously reticent king, played the moment out, stroking over the welts and lacerations, squeezing the firm flesh beneath the inflamed skin, watching each jerk of limb, each muscle twitch, each rivulet of sweat, as a connoisseur of wine might savor the bouquet of a fine vintage before taking the first sip.

Maedhros pulled back, his arousal sliding with sultry friction along the crease of Fingolfin's cleft and the king swallowed nervously, his fingers curling into fists, his body trembling in fear, exhaustion, and excitement as Maedhros took aim at his portal. The scent of honey and spice filled the room and Fingolfin felt the oil drip upon the small of his back, oozing with agonizing slowness down into his cleft. Russandol's hand left his buttock and there was a pause, then pressure that built with deliberate, inexorable force until the broad head of Russandol's arousal breached his body's pathetic attempt at rebellion.

Fingolfin scrabbled at the table and tried to squirm forward, a small cry escaping his lips at the staggering pain, but the table dug into his belly and Russandol's strong fingers dug into his hip to hold him in place. The battle was short, the outcome assured, and Maedhros stilled, permitting Fingolfin's defenses time to surrender to his greater force. Maedhros halted his advance just within the threshold of Fingolfin's tight heat, reaching beneath to raise the flagging banner of the conquered king.

With embarrassing swiftness Fingolfin's member responded and he groaned, unconsciously widening his stance, his ankles straining against the leggings that fettered them. Maedhros worked his fingers deftly along the hardening shaft, alternating firm, insistent strokes with teasing, gentle tracing of Fingolfin's retracted foreskin and sensitive head until the king, helpless in his passion, began to thrust.

All sense of pain and shame burned away in an instant until only Fingolfin's need remained, his uncontrolled drive toward completion. With effort he inched his arms forward, pushing himself up on shaky elbows to gain greater purchase as his impatient movements sank Russandol ever deeper into him. Maedhros, taken aback by Fingolfin's sudden and wholehearted enthusiasm, moaned in delight, his arousal consumed by the king's sinuously tight grip. He held himself still, softly vocalizing his pleasure and continuing to stroke Fingolfin, letting him work them both as the king writhed his way toward ecstasy.

But Maedhros was not about to let Fingolfin reach completion without his command, so when the king's breathing and jerking showed him to be at the cusp of release, Maedhros removed his hand, using it to control the king's frantic struggling. One powerful thrust of his hips and Fingolfin's thrashing subsided as he leaned heavily on the table and groaned in frustration, again forced to yield to Russandol's dominance.

Maedhros chuckled and drew a fingernail over one of the welts on Fingolfin's back, his member swelling at the whimper and tightening the move induced. "Do you yet need a reminder of who is master here?" he asked.

When Fingolfin did not reply, he slapped him hard on one punished buttock and the king gave a sobbing cry.

"No, Russandol. You are master," he averred quickly.

"Yes, and tonight you serve my pleasure. Is that not so?

"Yes!" Fingolfin shouted, and if Maedhros had but brushed his stump against his arousal, Fingolfin would have climaxed in that moment.

But Maedhros did not. Instead, he pulled completely from Fingolfin's body and plunged in again and again, punctuating each stroke with a slap, until Fingolfin was wailing. He sheathed himself at last, pounding deeply into Fingolfin, the sound of skin slapping skin, shouts of pain and growls of pleasure, echoing off the stone walls.

Fingolfin's wretched cries evolved into pleasured groans as Russandol claimed him in a manner no Elf ever had, or ever would. His hip bones slammed into the table's edge with each mighty thrust, his arousal swaying untouched and aching beneath the solid wood. He yearned to touch himself, to bring himself to completion with Russandol, but the chains on his wrists and his submission to his master's will prevented him.

Maedhros was an exacting master but not a cruel one, and so, as his release rushed upon him with the force of a Thangorodrim wind, he reached for Fingolfin and completed them together, their seed erupting in a burst of pent up longing and torment. For an endless moment the pleasure bore them aloft like the great eagle that bore Fingon to Maedhros' rescue upon the mountain. They descended together, even as they had risen, and Maedhros wrapped his arms around Fingolfin's waist, kissing his neck as his embrace nearly drove the air from Fingolfin's burning lungs.

His lips brushed Fingolfin's ear and he whispered, "You were spectacular, my slave. My love."

Gasping and blushing, Fingolfin finally managed to reply, "As were you, my love. My master."

Maedhros leaned over Fingolfin and tenderly removed the shackles from his wrists. He reached for a long silver knife and cleanly sliced through the leggings tangled between Fingolfin's ankles, freeing him. With an arm around Fingolfin's waist, he helped him to the corner behind the hanging chains and laid him on a pile of soft cushions. Maedhros knelt beside him and retrieved a flask he had ready, pouring its contents liberally over Fingolfin's back, buttocks, and thighs. Fingolfin was still shaking and he flinched at the touch of the cool oil, but the concoction immediately did its work, soothing and numbing his wounds.

He sighed deeply, contentedly resting his cheek on his crossed arms and giving Maedhros a sidelong glance as the red-haired Elf removed the tatters of his leggings and his boots.

When Maedhros finished seeing to Fingolfin's comfort, he looked at him lying bare and pliant before him, the marks on his body a testament to their bond. He reached to stroke Fingolfin's damp, dark hair, forgetting for a moment his absent hand. The king was astonished and enchanted to feel Maedhros' fea caress him with a phantom warmth they both shared. The two savored the brief connection, releasing twin sighs of pleasure before the feeling faded.

Then Maedhros' brow furrowed and he looked upon Fingolfin with concern.

"I frightened you, did I not?" he said softly.

"Yes, for a time," Fingolfin admitted. "I know we had discussed this, and suspected when your note said to meet you that perhaps you intended to make this the night, but I was startled when you seized me. Once I realized what was happening… well, let us just say you were most delightfully... forceful."

Maedhros smiled and leaned over to kiss Fingolfin on the cheek, noticing the swelling of his lip on the left side of his face where he had struck. His eyes clouded over and he poured some of the oil on a cloth, dabbing gently at Fingolfin's lip. Fingolfin gave him a grateful look.

"Forgive me. I went too far, I fear," Maedhros apologized.

"I should not have invoked his foul name," Fingolfin replied with a sigh.

"No, the fault was mine. My anger got the best of me, as it has too often these past months."

"That is why I held my tongue, I knew you needed this," Fingolfin said, reaching with a wince to touch Maedhros on the arm.

Maedhros lifted the hand to his lips, kissing Fingolfin's fingers. "And you were right, Nolofinwë. Your sacrifice has eased my troubled spirit. In all the scenes we have shared, never has your submission been more meaningful, more cherished, than it has been this night."

Fingolfin's heart swelled with pride and love for Russandol and he rolled onto his side, inviting his beautiful lover to lie with him. Maedhros happily complied, gathering Fingolfin carefully into his arms and gifting him with an adoring kiss which the king returned with passion.


End file.
